Iniquity Unlit
by MelissaLianne
Summary: Followup from what happened in The Dark Knight; the Joker has escaped and Bruce Wayne is finding it hard to cope. Will contain violence/gore in later chapters. R&R.
1. Prologue

Iniquity Unlit  
(an unjust act, without illumination)  
_Melissa Warwick, 12e_

_p r o l o g u e;  
__**an hour before the worshipp'd sun  
Peered forth the golden window of the east.**_  
**Romeo and Juliet, 1. 1**

The cresent moon hung briefly in the darkened sky above Gotham City; the few stars that had made an enterance disappeared, taking every source of light with it. A sense of dark forboding wrapped it's arms around the tired city, and there, in the darkness, was a man.

From a flickering streetlamp it was only just possible to distinguish his features – his pale face was plastered with white war paint, and the black eye make-up was smeared even more than usual. His lips glowed brightly, red lipstick rolled spectacularly across his scars; his mouth was held in a constant smirk. His hair was longer from what it had last been – it curled around his shoulders and bore a tarnished image. His dark eyes were lit with childish optimisim as he watched silently, from the shadows...

This town needed a better kind of hero...

And yes, it would receive one . . . when the time was right, of course. The Joker personally only liked to cause maximum chaos when he knew that other contestants were playing his game – his game.

His eyes rose to the sky, and a stroke of laughter erupted from him, which rose to ever high dementia, the madness of it all almost asphyixyating him...

Silence was beckoned only when the streetlight gave a last, wear some attempt to keep itself ignited, before fluttering into darkness...


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:** _Hope you're enjoying this so far... remember to read and review, feedback and critique is appreciated. I'm uploading this mainly because I have no muse for the Batman and Joker story were they're in the BB house... I guess I got a little bored with it. I'll attempt in updating it soon, who knows?_

Chapter One  
(Bruce Wayne; where is the batman?)  
_Melissa Warwick, 12e_

_p r o l o g u e;  
_One fire burns out another's burning,  
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.  
**Romeo and Juliet, 1. 2**

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the lounge of his glorious penthouse in a rather vegetable like state. His dark eyes were no longer the sparkling sapphire, they were ... empty. Lifeless. His skin had acquired a greyish tinge which only emphasized his woebegone attitude, and underlined his depression. A tray of untouched food lay on the coffee table, but a healthy appetite was the last thing on his mind. His demeanour had certainly changed a lot since he had personally escorted the Joker back to Arkham Asylum.

He sighed.

Rachel Dawes, the girl he had loved, was dead.  
Harvey Dent, district attorney and hero, was dead...

Even Alfred looked close to his time nowadays. Was he really suffering from old age, or was he withering with bitter disappointment?

In Bruce's eyes, the Joker certainly had won...

"You must not think of it as a win or lose game, Master Wayne," Alfred had told him once, while they both sat in silence in the kitchen.

"But it is at the end of the day, Alfred. The Joker's won, he's locked away and the Batman as you and I know him is finished," Bruce had replied coldly, causing Alfred to gaze at him for a few moments with a stunned expression. He inclined his head and left the room, a morbid silence lingering...

It wasn't fair!

"Nothing's fair, Batsy darling," the Joker chirped happily in Bruce's mind, "But what can I say – I'm an honest guy who plays by his rules..."

"You're garbage," Bruce thought silently, "And I'm just imagining you, you're locked up, you cannot inflict destruction on this world anymore..."

"That's what you think... hehahooahahehehehehehe!"

"SHUT UP!" Bruce was on his feet now, his face flushed red with anger. He caught sight of his expression in the tall, thin mirror, and for a moment, he though he saw the Joker gazing back...

Within a few seconds, a few seconds a few things were established – Bruce's fist had made quick contact with the glass, and blood mingled on glass shards which flew back as a reflex action.

"Master Wayne! Master Wayne, I say, are you alright? Here, let's stitch that wound while it's still fresh... have you taken your antidepressants?"

Alfred's words were nothing – nothing. They rested upon Bruce's weary mind and he was only half aware of the elderly man grabbing his wrist and wrapping a bandage around it.

- - -

"Ahaha, ha, ha..." The Joker was enjoying his stolen coffee a fair amount; he was loitering against a no loiter sign which only offered ignorance outside Starbucks, in his case anyway. He watched the citizens pass by, taking an occasional noisy slurp every few minutes. For once, no one was running in terror when they caught his gaze – this was merely because his face was covered with a fresh copy of Gotham Daily. The detonator in his coat pocket was calling his name... one squeeze and City Hall would only be seen as cinders, fire and rubble. But games were no fun if they ended right at the beginning. . . . That's why it was always fun to 'drag it out. . . '

His thoughts were rudely interrupted when a kid of around sixteen years of age barged past, promptly knocking the Joker's coffee out of his hand and spilling all over the grey pavement. The Joker did not yell at him, or pull out his trustworthy knife, no ... he needed a little break, he decided. Being normal and blending in with the crowd was so boring... he was ahead of this society and if he was going to be bland for a specific reason, which was fine. But every man on a job needs a break...

"Hey, kid," he rasped, leaning closer and letting his scarred lips curve into a smile, "Want to know how I got these scars... hm."

The kid was bespectacled tall with shoulder length red hair that was clearly in need of a wash. He didn't answer the Joker, but stared in disbelief, stunned to the spot and unable to move. The Joker interpreted this as defiant. He liked someone with a little fight, people now-a-days ran about working their mouths and cowering in terror. But this kid... just stared.

"Well? Don't keep me waiting. I don't like that."

He strode towards him, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him closer in one swift movement, "No, LOOK at me!" The kid stared at him, terrified. But yet still his eyes held a little... what was it? Dignity? The Joker laughed inwardly at the word. Dignity! What did that ever express? If you were gunna die, DIGNITY sure wasn't going to keep you safe, was it?

"So," he continued, placing the blade on his neck and slowly dragging it towards under the kid's ear, "So I had a friend, who looked like you, and he spent his days being a mobster, just like me. One day we're raiding a store. Not just any store, though. A jewellery stuh-ore! All of them jewels... can you imagine the prooo-fit? I can. And so could my friend. But the thing was, my friend wasn't quite... ah... as dignifying as you. On the job, he put all of the jewels in his dollar-signed bag and held a gun to my head. I didn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So I cower, pretending to be scared. My friend knows better. He pulls the trigger... but my fingers, ah, accidently brush against the detonator in my pocket. I had secrets too. I had the entire building rigged; but he didn't know that. BOOM!"

The kid jumped and the Joker laughed in his face, licking his lips and continuing his little story, "So, after that, what did I do? Did I wait for the cops to arrest me and shove me behind a cell? NO, no, no! I left. I found a little war store on the way back to my hideout, too. And guess what they specialized in... Can you guess? No? Would you like a little clue...?"

"Please..." the kid spoke for the first time, his voice surprisingly deep, "Let me go, my mom is cooking dinner and—"

"I'LL give you the clue!" shrieked the Joker delightedly, sliding the blade towards the kids mouth. "So, I enter the store. The guy gives me a funny look, he's heard of me. Back then I was only a try-out villain... but anyway. He had some paints on offer. War paint, it was. So I took it. I didn't pay for it, but the guy didn't bat an eyelid. I get home and drop the stolen goods – jewellery included – in my living room. I head towards the bathroom with the make-up and war paint, and begin to apply it. No more than ten minutes later, a face is staring back at me. White, with rather black eyes... But something was missing. And then I noticed the knife, lying against the taps. So, I take the knife..." he moved the blade to the inside of the kid's mouth, "And I slice it open..." He pressed the blade harder against his victim, and smiled vaguely, "And that was when my catchphrase, if you will, came into action. I was staring in the mirror at my expression... it was mad, but it was gooood. But I looked so serious, you see! And so I asked myself... Why. So. Serious?"

Slice.

The kid fell to the ground and his death was probably instant, and blood spilled across the pavement. The Joker sighed. "Got to do everything yourself, nowadays..."

"You got that right," replied a familiar voice behind him. The Joker rotated slightly, his face poised in a happy grin, when someone punched him.

"And how the hell did you get out? Master Wayne won't like that..." Lucius Fox stared at the Joker in disgust, before beckoning to a couple of his men, who lifted the Joker, who was still giggling, into a van, before driving off and disappearing, leaving the silent area behind them.


End file.
